BEGINNINGS 2: The Taming of Helena Kyle
by SamIAm4
Summary: Exploring the characters' separate lives previous to the series. Focuses on their struggles to come to grips with their respective situations, as well as the trust-building which takes place between them as they come together to form a team.
1. The Secret

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.    **

This story is a continuation of  BEGINNINGS:  The Awakening, which was previously known as Beginnings.  It began to get long, and it seemed wiser to group it into subsections.  I was not able to link them up, so you will just have to hunt around and find it if you haven't already read it…sorry!  I tried!  If you click on my name, though, it should give you all two of my stories.  

That said, enjoy the story!  

**Chapter 1:  The Secret**

            "_Barbara__?"_

            Barbara looked up sharply at his tone of voice.  Something had shaken Dick badly.  His face was white, his eyes remote.  Concerned, she motioned for him to join her at the kitchen table.  "What is it, Dick?  What's wrong?"  

            He shook his head, as if in disbelief.  His lips parted, but he seemed unable to make them form the words.  He shook his head again.

            Now, she was alarmed.  What could possibly have happened?  A sudden chill went through her:  _Oh, God…Is it __Bruce__?  Is he…_

            Reaching over to stroke Dick's arm, she forced her voice to remain calm and quiet.  "Dick?  It's all right, love.  Just tell me what's the matter."

            His remote, grey eyes met her concerned gaze.  Distantly, he said, "Bruce has a kid."

            "A kid?"

            "A daughter."   

            She blinked.  "Are you sure?"  He nodded.

            Silence fell between them as each struggled to process this amazing information.  Barbara's head fairly whirled with questions, but she could see that Dick was in no space to be bombarded with them.  She needed to go gently with this.  Wheeling over to the stove, she put the kettle on and busied herself making tea, allowing him the time he needed to pull his scattered thoughts together.  They sat and sipped in silence.

            Finally, she could see the some of the tension leave his body.  He no longer gripped the tea mug with such intensity.  Slowly, she watched him return from the distant place he had retreated to.  When he met her eyes, she could sense his presence once again.  She broke the silence.

            "Does Alfred know?"

            His eyebrow quirked.  "He does, now."

            She poured more tea for each of them.  "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what happened."

            He ran his fingers through his hair, "It's going to be a long story.  Why don't we go into the living room."

            When both had made themselves comfortable, he fidgeted a moment, then said:

            "Okay, first of all, I need to come clean with you.  Ever since Bruce left, I've been doing double duty on patrol.  I've been doing my usual patrols weeknights after work in Bludhaven.  Then, weekends, I've been coming up here to see you, and since I was crashing at the Wayne manor anyway, I've been using the Batcave and covering the New Gotham circuit best I could.  Alfred's been helping me—monitoring the system and that."

            Barbara's eyes sharpened.  "No wonder you've been looking so wiped out!  Why didn't you tell me?"  

            "Well, at first, you were...you know."  

            She flushed, and nodded.

            "And, afterward, well, you've been trying so hard to let go of Batgirl and move on…I didn't want to make it harder by flaunting it right in front of you."

            She sighed, "That was really considerate of you, but I need you to understand that when you try to protect me by leaving me out of the loop, it makes it worse, not better."

            He nodded, "Yeah, I get that now, but by the time I figured it out, enough time had gone by that I was afraid you'd be angry I hadn't told you in the first place, so I've sort of  been avoiding bringing it up."  He gave her a sheepish glance.  "It was stupid of me.  I'm sorry."     

            "You're forgiven.  What about Bruce's daughter?"

            "I don't even know where to start this story."

            "The beginning would be an awfully good place."

            "Very funny.  Raise your right hand and repeat after me:  I, Barbara Gordon, do solemnly promise…"

            She grinned, "I, Barbara Gordon, do solemnly promise…"

            "Not to interrupt Dick until he finishes telling the story."

            She sighed in mock exasperation, "Not to interrupt Dick until he finishes telling the story.  Hurry up and get on with it.  The suspense is killing me."

            He cleared his throat and began:


	2. Dick's Story

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.    **

**Chapter 2:  ****Dick****'s ****Story******

            "Alfred has been after me for months, now, to open Bruce's mail and start taking care of his affairs, but I guess I've been in denial.  I just couldn't accept that he was really gone for good.  I mean, I'm a grown man, now, and I guess should be able to get along all right without a father figure, but I really loved him.  I loved him, and I counted on him.  He was the anchor that kept me from drifting too far, the something solid that I could grasp when I started floundering.  I just haven't been able to wrap my mind around the fact that he really isn't coming back.

            "After I…after we had that fight, I started realizing that I'd been doing the same thing you were—holding so tight to the past, I couldn't free a hand to reach for the future.  Only, the past I was holding onto was Batman.  I realized that I needed to take my own advice:  It was time to let go and start redefining life without him. 

            "I figured a good place to start accepting that he was gone would be to deal with his mail.  Bruce's mail had been piling up since he left, and as his heir, it falls to me to deal with it.  Or, maybe it falls to her, now, since she's his real child and that probably makes her the heir.  No, don't interrupt—you promised.  Anyway, I've been spending the last several weekends slowly working my way through the mail and beginning to put Bruce's affairs in order.  It's been slow going--more time consuming than anything I could have imagined.

            "This morning, I opened a letter from a law office I didn't recognize.  Because I hadn't recognized it, I'd put it in the not-so-urgent pile, which is why I hadn't opened it until now.    

            "It was from Selina Kyle's lawyer.

            "The thing is, Bruce and Selina hadn't been in touch for years.  When they'd broken up fourteen or so years ago, she'd left town, and Bruce never heard from her again.  The only thing he knew for sure, according to Alfred, is that she'd given up being Catwoman for good.  Nobody knew why for certain, but Alfred says Bruce liked to think he'd had some influence in that decision.  He could never understand, though, if she was giving up the life of crime, why she left him.  Her unorthodox lifestyle had been the only rift in their relationship.  He was crushed by it.  He'd really been in love.  The 'Till Death Do Us Part' kind.  He would have married her if she would've had him."

            "I remember," Barbara said softly.  "He never really got over it.  I never saw him with anyone else after that."

            Dick shook his head.  "Well, now we know why she left.  She was pregnant with his child and didn't want him to know it.   

            "Anyway, Selina had left instructions with her lawyer that if anything should ever happen to her, Bruce, as the father, should be given legal custody.  So, the lawyer sent Bruce a letter, but of course, by the time it got there, Bruce had already taken off.

            "As soon as I opened this letter, I immediately called the lawyer to try to find out what had happened to the kid, Helena.  It turns out, when they didn't hear from Bruce, they'd assumed that he had no interest in the poor kid, and since he hadn't ever had or wanted custody, there were no rights for him to sign away, so they made her a Ward of the State.  

            "More than that, Selina's lawyer couldn't tell me, so then, I called DCFS, and I got the runaround for a long time before I got hold of the woman who used to be her caseworker.  I guess the poor kid saw Selina killed right in front of her, and then, they immediately dropped the bombshell on her about Bruce being her father, and then, on top of that, he appeared not to want her.  They felt she'd been too traumatized to deal well with foster placement, so they placed her in a group home."

            Barbara's eyes were full of tears.  "That poor child.  Is she all right?  Can we see her?"

            "Well, that's the thing.  I spoke with the director over at the Northside Christian Children's Home, where she'd been placed, and he said that about two weeks after she'd been placed there, Helena ran away—right at Christmastime, I guess.  They haven't heard anything of her since."  

            Barbara looked stunned.

            "There's more.  I think I might know her.  I think she's been living on the streets.  And, I think she's got metahuman abilities."

            "Not surprising.  She's half meta, after all.  You say you know her?"

            "I think so—and if I'm right, if this kid is her, she's really a terrific kid.  She's got a good heart.  She's pretty messed up, though.  It appears she's started to go feral."

            "That ain't good."

            "No kidding.  I think she can be reached, though.  I started to make a connection with her awhile back, and she's been shadowing me off and on since then.  She's got big, big attachment issues, though."

            "I should think so.  I take it you've run into her on patrols?"  

            He nodded.  "We're going to have to do something about this kid.  The streets of New Gotham are no place for a young girl—especially a metahuman.  If she's left to run wild for too much longer, she'll go completely feral and no one will be able to reach her.  Then, she'll be dangerous—in a few years, we'll end up fighting Bruce's own child."

            "I agree.  What can we do with her, though?  Bruce isn't around, damn him.  You're way down in Bludhaven, and that hovel you call an apartment is a disgrace--and anyway, DCFS doesn't tend to look smilingly upon placing young girls with single young men, even if you _are_ sort of her brother.  She can't stay by herself in the Wayne manor, even with Alfred there to look after her.  Alfred's way too old to be responsible for a child, anyway—especially if she's hurting and angry and half wild."

            Dick grinned.  "Alfred's tougher than he looks.  He had charge of me more than a few times.  You don't want to cross him.  But, you're right.  That wouldn't do.  Maybe the best thing we can do for her is get her back in that group home."

            _"NO!"  Barbara was emphatic.  "We can't do that to her.  Think what that poor, motherless child has been through.  She needs someone to love her."  _

            _Ah, yes…there was an idea.  A good idea.  A two birds with one stone idea._

            She caught his look.  "Are you out of your freaking mind?"

            He tried to look innocent and failed utterly.  "What?" 

            "Don't give me, 'What.'  I'm in no shape to raise a teenager, and you know it."

            "What, because of the wheelchair?  Or because you're such a bitch, lately?"  His eyes danced daringly.  

            She smacked him playfully.  "Just you wait till I get you in the training room, tonight!"  

            Dick ducked out of her reach.  He cocked his head, considering.  "You know, actually, that would make you a bitch on wheels."  He dodged the couch pillow thrown at his head, getting smacked right in the face by the second, which she'd aimed where she'd instinctively known his head would be when he ducked.  God, she was still just as quick as she'd always been!  He flung the pillow back in her direction.  She caught it and grinned wickedly.  Dick dove from the couch and turned a double somersault, hiding himself behind an armchair. 

            "Oh, Dickie…_c'mere_!  Got a little present for ya!"  Barbara waited for him to give into the temptation to stick his head out.  After several moments, a hand popped up from behind the chair.   

            "Uncle," called Dick, waving his handkerchief.  "I take it back!  I take it back!"   He ventured back to the couch, exaggeratedly feigning terrified hesitation.  Lord, it was good to hear her laugh like that!      

            She sobered.  "Seriously—taking care of a teenager is a big responsibility.  You have to make an enormous commitment; it's not the sort of thing you can just do for awhile and then stop.  You have to be prepared to run the whole race.  Any less would do harm.  It takes preparation and careful thought.  You can't just say, 'Oh, this one's cute—let's take it home and keep it'"

            He considered that.  "True.  But, the kid needs someone who can handle her.  You're a teacher—you've got a lot of experience with kids."

            "Yeah—and when I come home, I don't want to see any.  I deal with them all day long.  Emphasis on the long part."

            "This one'd be different.  This one'd be family.  And Alfred and I would help, you know.  It's not like you'd be all alone." 

            She was amazed to find that she was more than half convinced.  She sighed.  "Let me think about it, okay?"  

            He nodded, the expression in his eyes hopeful.

            _I must, she thought, __be out of my mind. _


	3. Maternal Instincts

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.**

**Chapter 3:  Maternal Instincts**

            Barbara zipped her fleece jacket more snugly around her neck as the damp breeze picked up a bit.  Funny how you could be high enough not to hear all the city noise and still hear the foghorns out on the bay.  Leaning her elbow on the low stone wall of the balcony, she watched the fog roll in off the water, softening the harsh edges of the factories and buildings which were New Gotham's skyline.

            Concern for that poor, motherless girl crept over Barbara's thoughts, blunting her ever-present grief and pain as new emotions filled her heart.  How alone that poor child must be feeling.  Was she warm enough?  What was she eating?  Did she have a place to get out of the dampness and draught of nights like this one?  Was she safe?  _Oh, God…had anyone…hurt her?_

            Was there anything, really, Barbara could do?

            Who was she kidding…she hadn't a maternal bone in her body.  She was all youthful impetuosity—a redheaded bundle of energy with the temper to go with the hair.  She had a tendency to speak without thinking, to unleash her razor-sharp tongue and quick wit without enough thought to the consequences, and she was much too used to settling problems with her fists.  These were excellent traits when dealing with the pond scum which made up New Gotham's underworld.  In a mother…

            No.

            Some people had no business raising a child.

            Sometimes, Barbara wished she were more like Dick…gentle and patient and soft-spoken, with an easygoing sense of humor about everything.  He was a hell of a physical fighter, and he could also hold his own in an argument…but never once in all the years she had known him had she seen him reduce anyone to tears with a tongue-lashing, or hit anyone harder than was necessary.  He fought hard, Dick did—that was without question…but he fought cool.  He rarely allowed his passion to take him over in the heat of the moment, never inflicted unnecessary pain.  

            Really, if anyone should take in a kid, it should be Dick.  Or even kind, patient Alfred.  Anyone but Barbara, the Reigning Queen of Impatience.  Sure, she could handle tough things like discipline, which threw most people for a loop when it came to kids…she'd been a teacher for long enough to know how to set limits and stick to them.  The whole school knew better than to act up in Ms. Gordon's classes.  But warmth and hugs and cookies and all that other stuff like tucking kids in at night and heart-to-heart chats about boys…forget about it!   Barbara was just too much of a tomboy to carry off the whole Mommy image.  

            "Mommy Dearest" was more like it.  She'd give it two weeks before she'd manage to reduce the poor kid to tears with some thoughtless, overly harsh comment.  Poor girl'd already been through hell—she didn't need anybody to sic Barbara on her.  

            On the other hand…it was entirely possible that the "Mommy image" Barbara held in her head wasn't terribly accurate.  She'd never really gotten to experience it firsthand.  Barbara's own mother had died when she'd been pretty young, and Barbara's memories of her were fairly hazy…vague, warm memories of being tucked in at night, the aroma of cookies in the kitchen, a little song about a kitten from the ten-cent store, a prayer sung at bedtime, and being wrapped in a patchwork quilt and rocked all night in a big, old rocking chair the time she'd fallen out of the tree in the front yard and broken her arm and couldn't sleep for the pain.  

            This kid wasn't little, though…she was fifteen.  Way too big for rocking chairs and songs about kittens.  Maybe she didn't need a mother so much as sort of a mentor…like Bruce had been for Dick.         

                 That much, Barbara figured, she could do.


	4. Found

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.**

**Chapter 4:  Found**

            Pausing wearily on a rooftop to rest, Dick tried not to allow himself to grow worried.  He'd taken time off work to sweep the city day and night, searching for Helena, to no avail.   He wondered if anything had happened to her.  The kid usually put in an appearance by now.  Where could she be?   He gazed across the rooftops in the direction of the hills which surrounded New Gotham, mentally ticking off the areas he'd already covered in his search.  An unexpected, yet familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

_::  Nightwing, have you found any sign of her? ::_

_::  Bat...er…__Babs__?  What…where's _Alfred___? ::_

_::  Upstairs, sleeping, I imagine.  It's nearly four in the morning, you know! ::  Even_ over the communication device, he could hear the laugh in her voice at his confusion.

_::  You're in the Batcave? ::_

_::  No, I'm in my living room, surrounded by millions of dollars worth of computer equipment.  Of course, I'm in the Batcave!  Where else would I be? ::_

_::  Uh…::_  Dick found himself at a loss for words.  

A tinny sigh sounded in his ear.  _::  Look. I needed to be able to use the system.  I found __Helena__'s freshman picture in last year's yearbook.  I needed to be able to access video surveillance systems in stores all over the city. I'm in process of setting it up so that it'll alert us if an image that matches that photo is captured on any of those systems. ::  _

_::  Uh…okay…but I don't think she does much shopping. ::_

_::  __Dick__, she has to eat.  I seriously doubt she's hunting down rats in the alleys.  And, unless she's running across the rooftops naked, I imagine she's getting clothes from somewhere. Eventually, she's going to have to go into a store.  And when she does, we'll know where she is.  Have you had any luck on your end? ::_

_::  No sign of her at all…and that's really unusual.  She's been shadowing me nearly every weekend for at least a month.  I'm starting to get a little worried. :: _

_::  Well, look, it's useless searching at this hour.  She's probably sound asleep.  I'm about done here.  Why don't you come on back and have a cup of tea with me before I head home? You sound exhausted.  I hope you're not working tomorrow. ::_

_::  I'm not—__Scott__'s got my shift covered all this week. Told him I had a family emergency.   Tea sounds good.  I'll be there by the time you've got it brewed.  Nightwing out. ::        ___

            Well, damn.  Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?  Dick smiled.  _Thank you, little sister.  _

**********

            _Out.  I need out.  Somebody get me outa here.  Help.  I need out._

            Helena paced back and forth in front of the bars of her cell, fighting down panic.  She had a horror of cages.  

            _Out.  Out!  Out!!!_

            She'd just _had to play with the rent-a cops._

            Growing increasingly frantic, she paced until she exhausted herself.  Then, she curled herself in a ball on the furthest corner of the bunk and shivered until she fell asleep.  

**********

            "Master Richard?"

            "Mmmm—hmmm?"

            "Master Richard."

            "Huh?"  Dick shook off the dream and sat up, wiping dampness from his cheek and chin.  Dang—he'd fallen asleep right at the kitchen table.  He knew he should have gone straight upstairs to bed when Barbara left.  He rubbed his eyes with one hand and yawned.  Holy crud, was he exhausted.  He attempted to uncrumple the expression on his face as he turned toward Alfred, who was standing in the doorway.

            "Hwhhhaaazzzup," he yawned.  

            "I beg your pardon, Master Richard?"

            "What's up," Dick inquired more clearly, stretching.  He rubbed his forehead and tried to jump-start his thoughts.  

            "You have a telephone call from a Ms. Kaufmann from DCFS.  It appears to be rather urgent." 

            Now, Dick was awake.  Wide awake.    

**********

            "Barbara!"  Dick burst out of the elevator.  "Bar—where are you?"

            "Gimme a minute…"  Barbara's voice echoed hollowly from the direction of the kitchen.  Dick entered to see her legs protruding from underneath the sink.  

            "I would have done that for you."

            Barbara emerged with difficulty, clutching her wrench, glaring at him.  "I can handle it."  

            _Definitely a good time to change the subject_.  "Guess what—they found her."

            Barbara didn't need to ask who she was.  She scooched herself over so that she could lean back against the dishwasher.  "Where?  When?  What happened to her?  Why couldn't we find her?  Who are _they_?  Where is she now?"

            Dick grinned and slid down to sit against the fridge.  "Pretty inquisitive, for someone who thinks we shouldn't take it home and keep it."

            "That's not what I said.  I said we shouldn't just take her in without thinking it through."  

            "And, have you thought it through?"  Dick's gaze was level, penetrating.

            _Thought it through…Lord, she'd thought of nothing else.  She'd tried to talk herself out of it at least a thousand times.  No luck.  It was obvious where her heart was.  Gulping, she nodded._

            "What did you decide?"  Dick tried his best not to sound like he was pressuring her.  

            She gulped again.  Took a breath.  "I'll do it." 

            They stared at each other for several seconds, digesting the enormity of the decision which had just been made.  Finally, Barbara broke the silence.  "Where is she now?"

            Dick hesitated.  "In Juvenile Detention."  

            Barbara's right eyebrow leapt toward her hairline.  Dick braced himself for the burst of legendary Batgirl invective.  Woman had a tongue on her that could strip paint off a Chevy.  With some relief, he watched a half grin appear.  Barbara slowly shook her head.  "Lord love a duck!  What in the world am I getting myself into?"         

            Yeah…Dick was wondering that, too.


	5. Preparations

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.**

**Chapter 5:  Preparations**

            _"I can handle it!"  Barbara was angry.  _

            "Nobody is saying you can't.  This isn't about the chair—is that what you think?  Forget the chair for a minute.  The point is, we are a team, here.  We all have a stake in this."  

            Barbara's face was still flushed.  Her nostrils flared with annoyance.  She started to speak.  Dick cut her off.

            "Look.  You're on point—that's true.  The bulk of the responsibility falls on you.  But, Alfred and I are part of this team.  I'm technically her brother.  And Alfred has been raising members of the Wayne clan since…since…well, for a really long time.  We want to be involved, that's all.  We want to help out, to be a part of things."  

            Barbara was beginning to get hold of her temper.  Her green eyes began to stop flashing.  She took several breaths. 

            "Miss Barbara," Alfred spoke in that gentle, matter-of-fact way of his, "I raised Master Bruce after his parents were killed.  I helped raise Master Richard.  It would please me greatly to be able to be involved in the life of Master Bruce's daughter as well."

            Dick hid a grin.  Good old Alfred.  Babs adored him—if he asked her to get the moon, she'd probably at least go looking for a ladder.

            "It's been a bit lonely around the Wayne Manor these days, with Master Bruce gone.  It might be nice to be around people," Alfred went on, "Of course, I shall certainly try not to be around underfoot too much.  I should hate to be a bother to you, Miss Barbara."

            Oh, the man was masterful!  Dick felt he should be taking notes.

            Barbara melted completely, "_Alfred_," she cried reproachfully, "You could _never  be a bother to me!  __Ever!"_

            "Then, you'll allow me to extend my responsibilities to include assisting in looking after Miss Helena?"  

            "Of course!"  Barbara had apparently forgotten that she'd ever been against the idea of Alfred working in her household as a butler.   How did Alfred manage that?  Barbara and Dick would have been shouting at each other by now. 

            It must be an English thing.

            "Okay, now that that's settled, what do we have left to do to prepare?"  Dick inquired.

            Barbara glanced at the checklist before her on the kitchen table.  "Okay, I've gone through the background check, met with the social worker, had someone come here to check out my place..."  She crossed off several more items on the list, reading them off to herself as she did so.  "We're going to need to clean the guest room…I haven't done it in ages.  There's a whole dust bunny warren living under the bed."

            "I shall take care of that, Miss Barbara."  

            "And, we'll need sheets, pillows, school supplies, groceries…"

            "Hey…"  Dick had an idea that fell right in line with something he'd been working on.  "Why don't you give her the room you've got your computer in?  It's bigger.  You could put a bed in there…fix it up nice…there's tons of closet space.  That way, you'd still have a guest room."  

            "What would I do with the computer and all my office stuff?"

            "Well…"  Dick wasn't quite ready to share his ideas.  "You could stow it in the guestroom for the time being.  You use your laptop most of the time, anyway, don't you?" 

            "Hmmmmm…that would be a lot of work."  

            Dick glanced at Alfred.  Alfred winked.  Dick felt somewhat smug.  Things were falling into place nicely.

            "Alfred and I can handle it.  Not to worry."  

            "Okay…while we have everything out of there, why don't we paint it.  Think you can handle that, too?"  

            "Yes ma'am.  Right away, ma'am!"  Dick saluted.

            "Good.   You start moving things out of there while Alfred and I go pick out paint and bedding and all that.  We want to be ready to go whenever they're willing to release her to us. 

            "Any word on that, yet?"

            "Could be any time, now…if she comes before we get the room ready, we can stick her in the guestroom for a few days."  

            "Heck—you haven't seen me and Alfred in action.  It'll be ready tomorrow.  Go buy the paint—then I can paint while you and Alfred pick out the furniture and bedding and that."  

            "_Tomorrow?_"  Barbara raised an eyebrow.  "You'll never get all that done by tomorrow."

            "Care to place a little wager on that?"

            "You're on.  Loser makes dinner every weekend for a month."

            Alfred looked horrified.  Dick laughed.  "Don't worry, Alfred!  You won't have to eat my cooking.  I'll win easily."

            "That is precisely what I fear, Master Richard." 

            _"Hey!"       _


	6. Anticipation

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.**

**Chapter 6:  Anticipation**

            It was moments like this one that Barbara wished she had use of her legs.  She desperately needed to pace.  Rolling back and forth just didn't satisfy the urge.  Wheeling into the kitchen, she opened the fridge and peered in.  She closed the fridge.  Filling the teakettle, she set it on the stove, but did not turn it on.  She opened the fridge again, selecting nothing.  She closed it.  

            Damn.  It had to be Thursday.  Couldn't be a weekend, when Dick'd be around.  Barbara opened the fridge again and stared at the contents.  She heaved an enormous sigh.  She hoped she was doing the right thing.

            Anyway…it was too late to back out now.  There was no way she'd do that to this kid.  Barbara was a teacher.   The kids from Northside Christian Children's Home attended New Gotham High, and Barbara had gotten to know several of them through classes and extracurricular activities.  More than once, she'd cursed the system, as her Northside kids' foster placements fell through at the last minute, crushing their hopes, breaking their hearts.  Even when they got placed, some of them got bounced around the system, living in foster home after foster home, experiencing so much rejection and loss, it was a wonder they could function at all.   

            A kid wasn't a puppy that you could take back to the pound if it peed on the carpet or a dress that you could return to Macy's if it didn't fit right.  Barbara never understood why people didn't get that.  If you were going to do it, you had to be willing to commit to it—to weigh it out and make an informed decision, and then stick to it.  No backsies on the deal.  The heart of a young human being was at stake.  

            Well, she'd thought about it, all right.  She'd researched it carefully.  She'd spoken with Helena's caseworker, and she'd also hacked into DCFS's system and read every single thing in Helena's confidential file, as well as the police report and the few pieces of information she could glean from Northside's files.  She'd also searched out every school Helena had ever attended—even overseas—and read every computerized piece of information she could gather, from grades to behavior reports.  She was determined that there would be no surprises.  The only thing she hadn't been able to do was meet Helena.

            No matter.  The decision was made.  Barbara was in this for the long haul.  No turning back, now.

            Barbara closed the fridge.  

**********

            If that damn social worker asked her _one more time_ how she felt about going to a new foster home, Helena was going to sock her.  She slouched in the passenger seat scowling out the side window, watching the raindrops shattering into bits as they hit.  _How was she feeling?_  What the hell did this lady want from her, anyway?  Did she really want to know how Helena was feeling, or was that a question she asked every foster kid?  Part of the routine…play the sympathetic listener.  They probably taught you that at social worker school.    

            Helena glanced over and saw that the woman next to her was still waiting for an answer.  She turned back to the window.

            "Fine."  _Pretty damn far from fine, Lady.  Not that I'd give you the satisfaction of knowing it._      

            Helena was pleased to see that her answer had not satisfied the woman, who cleared her throat and tried again.  "It's okay to be nervous, you know."

            "I'm not nervous."  _Pissed off, maybe.  Trapped, definitely.  But not nervous.  I don't give a damn about this lady whose place I'm going to.  Won't be there long, anyway.  They can't make me stay.  _

            But they could.  It was this or jail…her caseworker had made that clear.  She'd been charged with numerous shoplifting charges and was a runaway.  On top of that, she'd punched the fat rent-a-cop in the mall, destroyed several aisles worth of merchandise, and inadvertently bruised a couple of shoppers making her escape. She'd also stolen a vehicle (which she'd crashed, owing to the fact she'd never driven before), destroyed city property, resisted arrest, and assaulted a city cop—actually, several cops.  Helena grinned at the memory.  Two of 'em would remember her for awhile…oh, yeah!  The grin faded as she remembered the consequences of that little altercation.  If she broke probation once, just once, that was it.  Back in the cage.

            Helena would rather die than spend one more minute caged.  Whether she wanted it or not, she was stuck here for nine months.  But after that…

            Helena was _so_ outa there!

            And, in the meantime, all Helena had to do was survive.  No big deal…she was used to surviving.  She supposed she'd have to be back in School, but she'd gone to New Gotham High her freshman year, so that at least wasn't new.  It would suck living with a teacher, though—especially Ms. Gordon.  Helena'd never had Ms. Gordon, who only taught Juniors and Seniors, but the whole school knew her reputation.  She was tough. 

            Well, so was Helena.  She'd show this Ms. Gordon a thing or two.  Anyway, Helena could handle tough.  Nice, on the other hand…nice, she had a problem with.  This lady'd better not go and get all maternal on her.  Helena wasn't about to let anyone waltz into her life and take the place…anyway, this lady just better keep her distance!

            The car slowed as Mrs. Whatshername looked for parking on the busy street.  Helena spied a space over by the bank, but she kept her mouth shut.  Let the lady look for awhile—Helena was in no hurry.  She was secretly pleased when they had to drive around the block again.  The knot in her stomach didn't start to form until the car had been meticulously parallel parked and they were standing in the rain on the sidewalk in front of New Gotham's clock tower.  Then, it hit, smashing like a tidal wave, the reality of her situation washing over her soul, flooding every sense with…what was it?

            _Fear.  Absolute terror._

            _Oh God.  OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod._

            For an eternal moment, Helena stood, gut mercilessly twisting, hovering precariously close to bursting into frantic tears, staring up at the tower which she would now be forced to call home.  And she might have done it, too—burst into tears, except for that Mrs. Whatshername chose that moment to place a hand on her shoulder.

            "It's okay to be scared.  Everyone feels scared at first."

            Helena jerked away, as a surge of anger coursed through her with such force, it nearly tore her apart.  Her eyes flashed, pupils changing to catlike slits, as she lashed out at the social worker.  "Leave me the hell alone, bitch.  You can't read my mind, so stop pretending you know how I feel!"  She spun, gripping her suitcase with such vigor, her knuckles were completely white, and strode quickly toward the entry.  "Let's get this bullshit over with.  I'm getting bored with waiting," she tossed back over her shoulder.  

            The social worker followed, choosing not to make an issue of Helena's behavior.  Silently, the two entered the building's elevator, pushing the button for the top floor, the one just below the clockfaces.  The elevator opened onto an entry, from which Helena, slouching against the back of the elevator, could see the doors of two apartments.  Without a word or a glance at Helena, the social worker exited the elevator, making her way to the right hand door, the side facing the bay.  Reluctantly, Helena followed, making her way to the door and slouching against the wall just to the side of the frame.

            "Helena, stand up straight and at least try to look friendly.  You never get a second chance to make a first impression," ordered the social worker.

            _Who the hell cares?  _Helena drew her eyebrows down and scowled the fiercest, most defiant scowl she had ever made in her life, pupils becoming catlike once again.  At that precise moment, the door swung open.  


	7. First Impressions

**All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network.  The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.**

**Chapter 7:  First Impressions**

            _Who the hell…?!_

            Helena blinked in surprise as the door swung inward to reveal an older gentleman.    Scowl shocked right off her face, she stared, then slowly began to smirk.  _Hell's bells_, she thought, _we've got the wrong place.  Stupid Mrs. Whatshername goofed!_  

            If the man noticed her smug expression or the previous ferocious scowl, he gave no indication of it.  

            "You must be Miss Helena," he said, pleasantly, "Won't you come in and sit down?  Miss Barbara will be with you shortly." 

            They were ushered into a comfortable-looking living room.  In a corner next to a floor lamp was a table with a half-finished puzzle on top of it.  The opposite corner, beside an enormous picture window overlooking the city and the sea, contained a comfortable-looking reading chair and a small table upon which sat a lamp and several books.   The window stretched nearly the length of the room, at the end of which was a glass door opening out onto a balcony which appeared to run at least the length of the room, if not the length of the entire apartment.  An L-shaped couch wrapped around two sides of an area rug in front of a fireplace, with the short side facing the window and the long side facing the fireplace.  The third side of the area rug was taken up by a comfortable-looking reading chair with a footstool and an ancient oversized rocking chair, which, Helena thought, could very well have belonged to the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk.   

            Helena stared:  _A fireplace in a high-rise?_  The man's gaze followed hers.  He smiled.

            "Miss Barbara loves to have a fire on chilly evenings.  That fireplace was built especially for her.  The flue is built into one of the gargoyles.  If you look closely from below, you can see that it looks as though smoke is emerging from the gargoyle's ears." 

            Helena shrugged.  The social worker glared.  The man gave no reaction whatsoever, nor did he change his pleasant, unruffled demeanor.  "May I offer either of you a beverage while you wait?"

            Helena shrugged again, earning another glare from the social worker, who said in an overly bright tone, "That would be great.  I'd like a soda.  Sprite, if you have it, but anything is fine."  She clenched her teeth and pseudo-smiled pointedly in Helena's direction, eyes fierce.  "_What would you like, Helena?"_   

            Helena slowly turned as though bored, secretly delighted that her rude behavior was getting a reaction from at least one of the two.  "Coke," she said offhandedly over her shoulder, turning back to finish her examination of an old clock on the mantel.  The man departed, presumably in the direction of the kitchen, as she moved toward the end of the long couch furthest away from the social worker and flopped down, slouching back against the cushions, knees apart, one foot outstretched.

            _"Helena, for heaven's sake, straighten up and sit like a lady!  What will Ms. Gordon think?"_  hissed the social worker.

            Helena's right eyebrow lifted sarcastically as she regarded the toe of the outstretched foot.  "Oh, that's right…my life revolves around what Ms. Gordon thinks.  I forgot.  Perhaps I should go change into a frilly dress, quick, before she comes out!"  

            _"God, no!"_  

            Both Helena and the social worker jumped, turning as one to face the doorway where Barbara sat.  She grinned at them.  "I just loathe frilly dresses."

Helena's jaw dropped.  Since when was Ms. Gordon in a wheelchair?  She stared, incapable of uttering a word, as Ms. Gordon wheeled into the room and turned to face them.  The older gentleman returned with the drinks on a tray, and Helena took hers, thanking him absently, shock still evident on her face.  The man glanced from her to Ms. Gordon, blue eyes twinkling, then quietly set out some chips, vegetables, and dip before he departed with his tray.

            Later, Helena would have a vague recollection of shaking hands with Ms. Gordon, of sitting, sipping her Coke as Mrs. Whatshername and Ms. Gordon talked.  The social worker kept glaring in Helena's direction, trying to get Helena to participate in the conversation, but for once, Helena wasn't keeping silent to irritate her; there was no way she could get past the lump in her throat and the ringing of panic in her ears.  Ms. Gordon seemed to recognize this and, after a couple of questions directed to Helena, just let her sip her Coke in peace.  Finally, Mrs. Whatshername stood, walking over to shake hands with Ms. Gordon and to say goodbye to Helena.  The elderly gentleman saw her out.  

            As Mrs. Whatshername left the room, Helena had a sudden mad urge to race after her, to beg her not to leave.  The blind, consuming panic she had felt on the sidewalk returned full force.  She glanced wildly around the room, heart pounding rapidly, throat tight.  

            Her eyes fell on Ms. Gordon, who was sitting quietly in her wheelchair, watching her compassionately.  Ms. Gordon leaned forward slightly, speaking softly.  "It'll be okay."

            In an instant, all of the emotion swirling within Helena boiled to the surface, tears threatening to burst forth in a wild storm.  Then, nearly as quickly, Helena got control of herself, shoving down the rising emotions with a ferocity which surprised even herself.  Eyes glittering with anger, she glared defiantly at Ms. Gordon, daring her to make another move to reach out.

            Barbara watched as Helena's defenses came up, as she clamped a tight lid on her emotions, suppressing them with an intense, defiant rage.  Boy, Dick had sure called it right. Any attempt at making an emotional connection and the girl became threatened and defensive.  She was going to have to take it slow and easy with this one.  Calm and matter of fact…that was the way to go.  She glanced away, looking for something neutral to focus on.  Her eyes lit on the suitcase in the entrance hall.  

            "Want to see your room?"  

            Helena shrugged and scowled.      

            "I'll take that as a yes.  Come on, then.  Grab your suitcase.  You can get yourself unpacked and situated before dinner.  Then, after dinner, we can go over the ground rules and I'll show you the rest of the place and how to work the security system to get in."

            Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Helena followed Ms. Gordon into the hall, where the elderly gentleman was picking up Helena's suitcase.  "Helena," said Ms. Gordon, "Have you met Alfred?"  

            Helena shook hands with Alfred as she took her suitcase.  Curiosity warred with defensive sullenness…she had not been told there was an "Alfred".  Curiosity won.  "Do you live here?"  she asked.  

            Alfred chuckled.  "No, Miss Helena…I live in the Wayne Manor.  I am your father's butler.  In his absence, I am extending my duties to include serving Miss Barbara and yourself."

            Helena's eyes widened.  "You know my father?"

            Alfred twinkled at her, "My dear, I practically raised your father."

            Helena's jaw dropped for the second time that day.  She goggled at Alfred over her shoulder as she followed Ms. Gordon in the direction of the bedrooms.  Alfred winked at her as he turned toward the kitchen.  "Dinner will be ready, soon," he called.

            "Er…Ms. Gordon?"  Helena caught up as the wheelchair came to a halt beside a bedroom door.  The woman laughed.  "That's a little formal…we're not at school.  Call me Barbara.  Ms. Gordon always makes me think I'm in trouble.  You know…_'Do you have something you'd like to share with the class, Miss Gordon?' _"  She laughed again.  "Here's your room.  I hope you'll like it.  Bathroom's down the hall to your left.  Kitchen's back that way.  I'll leave you to get settled.  Dinner'll be ready in about twenty minutes.  Okay?"  

            Helena nodded.  "Thanks, Ms…er…Barbara," she muttered, as Barbara began to wheel away.  Barbara turned and looked back.  "You're welcome, Helena," she said, quietly.  "I'm glad you're here.  I hope you'll be happy here."  

            Hurriedly averting her gaze, Helena closed the bedroom door as quickly as possible.  Placing her back against it, she slid down and, placing her head on her knees, huddled in a miserable ball on the floor, taking deep breaths and willing herself not to bawl.  There she remained, until Alfred called her to wash up for dinner.


	8. Awkward Moments

**Chapter 8:  Awkward Moments**

_            I have absolutely nothing to say to this girl._  

            Barbara smiled tentatively at Helena, who had been stealing glances at the redhead as she silently pushed her green beans around her plate with her fork.   Helena glanced away hurriedly.  Barbara stifled a sigh.  If only Helena wouldn't shut her out so completely, she might be able to get a dialogue started.  She racked her brain for another topic of conversation to break the awkward silence.

            Nothing came to mind.

            Damn.

            _C'mon, Gordon.  Think.  You were Homecoming Queen for God's sake.  Miss Congeniality.  You used to be able to talk to anyone, anywhere.  What is the problem?_

            The problem?  That was obvious.

            The problem was, it counted.  

            The problem was that Barbara Gordon, who could chat up any stranger, flirt with any guy, wisecrack during a street fight or under torture, discuss any topic from Chemistry to Shakespeare, had a little-known difficulty.  When it counted, she couldn't find a thing to say. 

            Not a blessed thing. 

            _Damn, damn, damn!_

            When she didn't really care, when she was just talking to be talking, flirting, wisecracking, even lecturing, she could find a million things to say.  Good things.  Interesting things.  Lord, she could keep the interest of even the most uninspired seniors at the High School.  She could get the shyest blind date to open up and talk about himself.  She could get information out of just about anyone during the course of her investigations.  But, put her in the company of a guy she really liked or a 15-year old girl she was adding to her household, and she became this dull, gray, uninteresting lump of a personality.  Pathetic, really.  

            Barbara cleared her throat.  She had to try, after all.

            "So…you, um, used to go to New Gotham High?"   

             "Yeah."

            "I thought I remembered your face."  Barbara neglected to mention she'd been running that face through a computer search of New Gotham recently.  "You used to be, um, a cheerleader or something, didn't you?"

            "Pep squad."

            "Ah.  Yes.  Pep Squad.  I bet that was a lot of fun.  Well, it hasn't been that long…maybe you could get back into it when school starts up for the Fall."  

            Helena shrugged.  "Nah.  Pep Squad's for dorks."

            "Ah."  Secretly, Barbara had to agree with that statement, but it wouldn't do to say so.  "Well, you could always go out for sports or something."

            "_No!_"  Helena was vehemently opposed to that idea.  Just what she needed—everyone finding out about her weird-ass abilities when she leapt over the basket on a jump shot or something.  

            Barbara looked mildly surprised.  "Okay, no problem.  You don't have to do any activities at all if you don't want to.  I just thought it might get a bit lonely for you around here.  I often have to stay later at school to help the kids in my classes and supervise activities."  

            Helena shrugged.  What did this lady care if she got lonely?  Besides, Helena didn't need anyone.  She'd been living on her own for over six months, after all, and she'd been doing just fine, thank you very much.  She glowered at the tablecloth and scuffed one foot on the carpet.  "Don't worry about it," she muttered.

            Silence weighed heavily in the dining room once again.

            Helena squirmed and stabbed at her beans with her fork.  God, she wished dinner were over!   She had nothing to say to this lady, and the less said, the better, anyway.  Last thing she needed was for this lady to go all maternal on her.  She might be Helena's foster parent for now, but she better have another think coming if she thought she was going to take the place of…anyway, this lady better just keep her distance, or else! 

            Barbara stifled another sigh as she regarded the teenager across from her.  There went another topic of conversation.  She cast about in her mind for a subject that might stand a chance of evoking a more than one-word response from the girl, yet which would not be so personal as to seem threatening.  It was a mighty short list.

            "I trust everyone enjoyed their meal?"  Alfred materialized at her left elbow, efficiently whisking away her dinner plate and moving around the table to Helena's side.  Barbara glared at him.

            Blithely reaching for Helena's plate, he ignored her poisonous stare, inquiring whether anyone wanted dessert as though he hadn't even seen it.  _Bastard!_  Any other evening, he was perfectly willing to accompany Barbara at dinner, but tonight, when she needed him?  Oh, no!  He had to go all Jeeves on her, insisting on playing the servant while she struggled alone to make conversation with this unresponsive kid.  "It's not my place, Miss Barbara," he'd said, firmly, and no amount of coaxing or pleading had been able to budge him.

            _I am SO going to get him for this!_

            To Barbara's intense relief, Helena declined dessert and asked to be excused from the table.  Huh.  Looked like Selina'd taught the little barbarian _some_ manners, anyway.  Freed, the girl retreated in the direction of her room.  Pointedly ignoring Alfred, Barbara shoved away from the table and did the same, retreating in the direction of the living room.  Let _him_ do all the dishes if he wanted to be a servant so bad!  She decided to go over the house rules and the security system with Helena tomorrow.  Right now, she just needed some space to adjust to the change.  They both did.

*******************************************************************************************************************

            In the kitchen, Alfred shook his head as he listened to the profound silence permeating the atmosphere of the household.  He supposed he could have bent the rules, eaten dinner with the two, helped to soothe some of the tension and awkwardness between the two young mistresses.  He stood by his decision to remain true to his role, however.  It was one thing to have shared supper with Miss Barbara on occasion; technically, she was not his employer, and sharing meals had done much to ease the loneliness of their solitary lives.  Furthermore, allowing Miss Barbara to respond to his lonely state of existence in Master Bruce's absence had permitted her to preserve a sense of dignity in accepting Alfred's assistance.  With the addition of the child to the household, however, things had changed.  However illegitimate, Miss Helena was a Wayne, and it would not be proper for a butler to fraternize with the members of the family  whom he served.  

            Alfred had to admit, however, that he had already crossed that particular line in his relationship with both Master Bruce and Master Richard.  Having had a hand in the raising of the both of them as well as playing a major, if supportive, role in their…extracurricular activities, he found himself to be as much parent, teammate, and confidant as servant in his relationship with the two.  Really, his servant role was little more than an act, an illusion to cover the true nature of the role he played within the Wayne household.  

            His father would probably turn in his grave if he could see him.  Alfred came of a long line of butlers, and the traditions and responsibilities of the role were a matter of Pennyworth family honor.  Edmund Pennyworth, like his father and grandfather before him, had served the same English family his entire lifetime, and had taken great pride in knowing his place within the household.  Little patience had he had for his second son's unseemly sense of ambition and adventure.  If Edmund Pennyworth had ever suspected that Alfred had forgotten his place to the extent that he had, he would have disowned him for certain.  

            Bad enough that Alfred had taken employment with an _American_.  That alone had nearly caused his father to disown him and had caused a family rift which had taken years to set right.  _Yanks_, with their _new money_ and their _bold ways_ were not held in high regard by the gentry of England and those who took pride in serving them.  Alfred always had been a bit headstrong, however.  Even as a lad, he had earned himself a beating on more than one occasion for disgracing his family with his stubbornness and his bold ways.  Subservience wasn't really in his nature, for all he had become adept at creating the illusion of such.  He probably wouldn't have lasted two minutes, serving an English household.  The easy informality with which Americans interacted suited him much better.   

            Still, it wouldn't do to be sitting down to dinner with a member of the household.  Not that he didn't occasionally sup with Master Bruce and Master Richard—but he had no relationship with this child which would warrant that sort of familiarity.  Furthermore, the safety and secrecy of his true role within the Wayne household depended on the preservation of the illusion of subservience.  And this meant that young Miss Helena must grow accustomed to dealing with him in that role.  Right from the start.  No exception.    

            Alfred _had_ felt badly for poor Miss Barbara, however.  The child was difficult; of that, there was no doubt.  Alfred had been painfully aware of the uncomfortable and lengthy silences between the two at dinner.  The presence of another person might have done much to ease the awkward tension.  Still, it was Miss Barbara who was going to need to form the primary relationship with the child.  He and Master Richard could lend support and advice, but it was going to be up to Miss Barbara to establish a relationship and earn the girl's trust.  Child rearing was largely a matter of trial and error, and Miss Barbara was going to have to make and learn from her own mistakes.  However tempting to step in and play the hero by gaining the child's trust and easing the transition, he and Master Richard were going to have to be very careful to resist that temptation and do nothing to undermine the establishment of that primary relationship. 

            For Alfred, this would be easier:  He had already had plenty of experience limiting himself to a coaching role when first Master Richard, then poor, young Master Jason, and finally Master Timothy had been taken in by Master Bruce.  Master Richard, however, liked to play the hero and was accustomed to the role.  Alfred and he had already had several conversations regarding the necessity of Master Richard limiting his role with the child.  Master Richard had agreed with the wisdom of this.  Alfred had his doubts, however, as to whether Master Richard would be able to stand back and watch Miss Barbara learn from her inevitable mistakes and failures with Miss Helena without attempting to jump in and save the day.  This was something, however, that Miss Barbara was going to have to figure out on her own.  

            Alfred intended to watch Master Richard like a hawk.  


End file.
